


there are no angels.

by tittlediddle



Category: South Park
Genre: :), I needed to write angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Please be careful!!, This is really self indulgent, i just havent written that yet, there will be michael/pete sad shit, they're all teens here, this is really dark and a bit graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25727317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tittlediddle/pseuds/tittlediddle
Summary: I just realized I’ll never be sick again. I can't say how it makes me feel, but I'm swallowing into myself. After only a few short thoughts, it’s suddenly 4:56, and I’m begrudgingly starting to learn how fast time passes when you’re dead.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	there are no angels.

_"And as we walk in the dimming light  
Oh darling understand  
That everything, everything ends"_

Looking at myself, it’s all really weird that I chose this as my exit. Actually, this whole thing is so contradictory. I hated baths. I didn’t like that you sat and soaked in your own dirt. Michael loved them, though. I told him that if you really wanted to be clean, you could have taken a shower. And I hated razors. Sharp objects always made me feel anxious. And it certainly didn’t help that when I needed to shave, I almost always cut myself. And that’s the most confusing part: I had an incredibly low pain tolerance. Slitting your wrists isn’t really the most comfortable way to go. The theatricality, however, did in fact match my personality. I was dramatic and odd, and the attention that my suicide is gonna get, ironically, might have saved me to begin with. 

This wasn’t my plan at first, but I conjured it up when I was eight, and I made it a point to stick with it. I wasn’t gonna go out like some nobody. I wasn’t gonna let a car accident just sweep me under the rug. Nor cancer or any illness, and definitely not bullshit old age. The only rules were to do it before I was eighteen, and that it had to be unexpected. Get up in the morning, and go to bed in the bathtub. It’s a shame that I spent my limited hours on the earth dreaming up fantasies I knew I’d never see. I wasted those precious minutes smoking cigarettes and drinking cough syrup, instead of planning for my future; but I didn’t have one. Why plan for something I knew I wasn’t promised? My grades weren’t spectacular, and neither were my test scores, so it’s not like I’d get anywhere academically. See, I dug this hole early, and as I got older I gave myself reason after reason to die, until there was a pile of dirt above me and no way out. Nobody would’ve been able to get down there to pull me out either, and I was stuck in a grave I dug myself. I just felt so empty, like a little wound had opened in my chest that just wouldn’t scab over. And even if it did, I’m sure I would have picked it open. 

I am the first witness to this crime scene. My very own crime scene. I think it’s supposed to be rewarding, considering how hard I worked to get it all set up. The dusty digital clock on the top rack of the shelf reads 4:03 am. My mom wakes up for work at six. One hour and 57 minutes from now, my mother will be walking into the bathroom. God, she has such a huge mess to clean up. I remember my body and I gaze emptily at the image of my once warm pale skin starting to gray. My red hair looks so light in the water. I lost so much blood. Even in death, I look so small. I think I died at 3:14 am, give or take. I feel so sick. Wait, I just realized I’ll never be sick again. I can't say how it makes me feel, but I'm swallowing into myself. After only a few short thoughts, it’s suddenly 4:56, and I’m begrudgingly starting to learn how fast time passes when you’re dead.

I take another look at my tiny 17 year old body. I’m sort of just sitting there, all splayed out. It’s sort of silly, really. Comical, but I find myself getting anxious. I can’t bring myself to laugh. Where did my wry sarcasm go? This isn’t what I thought it would be. The minutes are flying like seconds now. How long have I been staring at it? At myself. A shiver runs up my spine and I try to shake the realization of what I had done. Now it’s 5:57. Three minutes. I think my pulse would be racing if I had one. A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. It’s six now, and the sound of an alarm floods into the hallway, partially muted by the shut door. Jesus, what will my friends say? What will Michael do? My throat clenches as I lean in, listening closely to hear my mom, and sure enough, I hear lazy footsteps getting closer. I take one more brief glance at myself, and the clock right before she comes in. 6:04 am. What have I done? She’s never going to be the same. Go to bed a mother, and wake up childless.

The knob clicks.  
At 6:05 am, my mom screams.  
I scream, too.

**Author's Note:**

> :] this is my first time w/ fanfiction so be easy on me  
> i'll write more if i get any feedback, but bear with me, i should have more written anyways  
> ty for reading!


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